


(wide awake) christmas dreaming

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different Framework Universe (Marvel), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Santa Claus, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: Jemma is plugged into a very different version of the Framework.
Relationships: Will Daniels/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	(wide awake) christmas dreaming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shineyma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/gifts).



> This is a Christmas gift for the lovely shineyma. When I planned it I was sure I could include almost everything you asked for and then I wrote it and it turns out all that stuff is there, just off-screen. Whoops. That's writing for you, I suppose.
> 
> Title from "Christmas Dreamin'" by Leanna Crawford.

“Her actions make no sense.”

Jemma can’t really disagree with that. If Noel would just _tell_ George that she’s working for the man who plans on shutting down his business on Christmas Eve, she would have far fewer problems. (Not risking jail time due to unethical business practices for one.)

“That’s the point!” Daisy says. Her exclamation nearly upends the popcorn on her lap, so Jemma reaches across AIDA to take it from her. AIDA, missing nothing, glances briefly down at the exchange, then fixes its artificial eyes back on the screen.

“If the point is nonsensical, why do you watch these films?” it asks.

After Radcliffe was exposed as a traitor, aiding Senator Nadir in her quest to ruin SHIELD and fleeing after he failed to steal the Darkhold, AIDA was left behind. It’s his life’s work, the culmination in all his years of experimentation, and he forgot it like a child’s doll. Even Jemma has to admit that’s rather sad. But the others have all had decidedly emotional reactions to the situation, projecting those emotions onto AIDA itself. Hence today’s effort to include it in their lazy afternoon watching Hallmark films, as if it would be lonely without them keeping it company.

“Because it’s easy,” Daisy says more sedately. “The problems in these movies are so mundane and you always know how it’s gonna go. They fall in love, he finds out she’s been lying, she finds a way to save his business, for some reason he apologizes for not trusting her, and then at the end everyone celebrates Christmas and probably her old boss shows up because he’s discovered the Christmas spirit or something. Happy endings all around.”

“Whereas real life is much messier,” Jemma says while Noel has a very amicable breakup with the city boyfriend who she’s spent the whole opening act practically estranged from. He doesn’t even appear to be hurt, only happy for her that she’s found her own happiness elsewhere. “In real life, it’s not nearly so obvious who one is meant to be with. And even if someone steps neatly aside, their feelings don’t just disappear.”

Jemma is grateful, suddenly, for AIDA’s presence. With the barrier of an artificial body between them, she can pretend she doesn’t know Daisy’s throwing her uncomfortable looks. It’s been nearly six months since Will returned from Maveth, longer since she did. His recovery time gave her ample time in which to work out her feelings and of course Fitz did the gallant thing and stepped aside. But then Will did the same, having assumed she and Fitz struck up a relationship in his absence. And now it’s months later and they’re both still waiting in the wings for her to make a decision that will surely hurt one of the two people she loves most dearly.

“It’s certainly an easier world, a _better_ world,” she sighs as Noel’s ex, so unimportant Jemma didn’t bother to even remember his name, makes his final exit from the film. Given that Will is currently off reuniting with his father, she feels a twinge of fear that the universe might just decide to grant her unspoken wish by having him choose to stay with his father rather than return to the chaos of SHIELD, thus making her decision for her.

She pushes those thoughts aside, choosing to focus rather resolutely on the shallow drama playing out in front of her. But she will remember those thoughts and those words some weeks later, when the shock of reentering this world from that of the Framework will stir them to the front of her mind. She will regret them and this entire day quite a bit then.

❆❆❆❆❆

Jemma’s on her way out to talk to Will, but the massive gasp she hears as she comes down the stairs—like someone who just came up from too long underwater, not like someone’s boyfriend just _upended their entire understanding of reality_ —has her rushing into the kitchen to help a still-gasping Will. She doesn’t bother wondering what he’s doing here, too focused on the problem of his breathing. He grips one of the stools tucked neatly under the island and shudders in her arms. Even when his breaths finally even out, she can feel his poor heart pounding.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I just-” His watery eyes finally catch hers and something passes through them. Worry, she thinks and she can’t blame him, not after the way they left things. He looks up and wipes at his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Reluctantly, she steps away. She’d like to go on holding him but they haven’t hashed things out yet. And, though she hates to even think it, it’s entirely possible he won’t _want_ her to touch him after she says her piece.

“What happened?”

For a moment he only stares at her, that raw expression even more apparent on his face, then his eyes slide to the glass of water on the island. “Water,” he says. “Went down the wrong pipe.”

“Oh.” It sounded quite a lot worse than that, but saying so will surely embarrass him so she lets the subject pass. “What are you doing here?”

“I-” He looks around, almost like he’s never seen his own best friend’s house before. For a heartbeat she’s fearful that _that’s_ why he’s here, to see her cousin instead of her. “I was looking for you. We kind of need to talk.”

She can’t help a laugh at that. “I was just going out to look for _you_ , love, because _I_ thought we needed to talk.”

It’s only when she sees his shocked expression that she realizes the endearment slipped out without her meaning it to.

Well, seeing as she’s already begun, she reaches out to take his hand. He doesn’t shake her off and she takes some hope in that. “In the living room?”

He looks down at their joined hands. His expression is shuttered but she thinks she knows him well enough to see some hope there as well. At least she’s not alone in that.

“Yeah,” he says, “sounds good.”

He lets her lead the way and sits obediently with her on the couch. When he attempts to speak, she cuts him off swiftly.

“Wait, no.” She holds up a hand. “You did the talking last night, now it’s my turn.”

She expects an argument, possibly a reminder that she did plenty of talking when she refuted his every claim with logic and _science_. It could be he’s bracing for more of the same and she’s sorry for that, but she’s not about to waste the opportunity.

“The reason I moved in here with Ophelia,” she says carefully, unsure how to begin the story she never thought to share with anyone, “isn’t because I’m hiding out from the immigration authorities. Or, well, I suppose I am.” She’s never given much thought to her status in this country. It always seemed a secondary concern to her more obvious crimes.

Will’s thumb is sliding across her knuckles in a very distracting way. She thinks it quite rude of him, but it feels so nice she doesn’t consider telling him to stop. Besides, he seems rather interested in the practice as his gaze rests on their hands instead of her face. “Jealous ex?” he asks with a wry quirk to his lips.

“No, nothing like that.” She sighs. “I wish it were something like that.”

At his sharp look, she gives a brave smile. At least she’s got his attention.

“I was a SHIELD agent,” she says quickly, like tearing off a plaster.

Will doesn’t jump up or retract his hand or move at all, really. She takes it as a good sign and continues in a rush.

“I never had anything to do with the Avengers Initiative or aliens or any of that. And I suppose I did make weapons but they were meant to be _helpful_. The last thing I was working on before the UN disbanded us was a formula meant to cause paralysis without harming the individual and my partner was going to incorporate it into a weapon for long-range administration, so you can see I wasn’t trying to undermine any governments or put the human race in danger and you’re not saying anything. If I’m willing to accept that magic is real, the least you can do is say something.”

“Okay, sure, I just-” He shakes his head as though trying to shake all the information she’s just dumped on him into place. She really should have practiced this—he was so measured when he revealed his own deep dark secret to her last night, giving her time to process even when it meant withholding information he had to know would leave her questioning him—but once she decided to tell him, she couldn’t wait a moment for fear she’d chicken out. And now he’s confused. Good job, Jemma. “Did you say magic is real?” he asks.

She squirms a little. “Don’t make me say it again.” Just because he won her over to the idea doesn’t mean she has to be happy about it.

“And the UN…,” he murmurs. He shakes his head again and squeezes her hand. “Maybe I should say my thing.”

“You’re not even going to take a while to consider what I’ve said?”

“No, it doesn’t matter.” The hurt she feels must show on her face because he backtracks quickly. “I mean, none of that changes anything.”

“It doesn’t?” She shifts closer to him on the couch, suddenly fearful the thing he’s come to tell her is that he wants to break up with her because she was so argumentative last night. “Because you’re angry about last night?”

“No, I- why would I be angry?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she says, suddenly a little angry herself. “You just drop this bomb on me and-”

“What bomb?”

She gapes. “‘What bomb’?!” Somehow, without any forethought, she finds herself on her feet, pacing around Great-Aunt Ophelia’s coffee table. “You tell me your father is _Father Christmas_ with the red hat and reindeer and everything and you ask _what bomb_?”

He obviously wasn’t expecting such an outburst because he stares, thunderstruck.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I guess I’m still a little in shock.”

“I really think I should say my thing,” he says weakly, but she’s no longer listening to him. There are voices coming from the back hall.

A man and a woman. Sniping softly at each other. And one of them…

“Fitz?” she asks, utterly gobsmacked as he steps into view. He’s followed quickly by a dark haired woman about their own age.

“Oh thank God,” the woman says, then smacks Fitz’s arm. “See? I told you we’d find her.”

“Fitz,” Jemma says again, not quite able to process his very presence. “What are you doing here?” The last time they saw one another they were on the run from the authorities and chose to part ways due to the greater likelihood of their being recognized as a pair. She’s long suspected the reason no one ever came looking for her here—Ophelia is her second cousin and they never once spoke prior to SHIELD’s disbandment but she’s still family and it seems a rather obvious place to hide—was that they were looking for Fitzsimmons, not Simmons as an individual. (Though now she knows about Will’s father, she wonders if there might be some field of magical protection around the town keeping secrets hidden.

And she hates that she has to seriously consider that possibility now.)

But the point is, she never thought to see Fitz again after that last goodbye. It isn’t _safe_. What could he possibly have sought her out for?

“We’re looking for you,” Fitz says. He comes fully into the room and there’s no threat in his movements, but she backs away all the same, landing heavily in the recliner beneath the window. Fitz catches sight of Will. “And him.”

“Glad to see you’re all right too.”

Fitz makes to respond but the woman moves bodily between them. “All right, boys, I let you both come on the condition you’d play nice.”

“I always play nice,” Fitz says.

“ _Fitz_.”

Jemma ignores this exchange in favor of Will. “You know each other?”

The sour expression on Will’s face softens. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“And now you don’t have to.” Fitz rounds the coffee table, pulling a device that strongly resembles a beeper from his pocket. “Grab on.”

The woman joins him with a shrug. “It is the easiest way.”

Will stands to join them and pulls Jemma with him. She goes, too confused to question whether or not she should be allowing this to happen. Before the thought occurs to her, Fitz has pressed the largest button on his device and-

Nothing has happened.

He tries again. Several times. Then begins cursing and snapping back when the woman makes suggestions. Jemma doesn’t offer any input; as she doesn’t know what the device is meant to do or even if she wants it to work, she doesn’t feel it’s appropriate.

“Wait,” the woman says sharply. “What’s this?” She passes Fitz by to grab a photo from the mantle. She spins it so the rest of them can see Jemma smiling out from alongside Ophelia. “ _Who is this?_ ”

Jemma grabs the photo. “Ophelia, my cousin. This is her house and that’s why you should both take whatever SHIELD nonsense you’ve brought with you and _leave_ as soon as possible.”

But they’re not listening to her.

“I thought you said she was just following Radcliffe’s orders to keep us occupied,” Will says.

“She might be,” Fitz says.

“But why is she _here_?” the woman asks. “There’s gotta be a reason.”

“Probably why this doesn’t work.” Fitz waves the device about as if he wants to throw it, but contents himself with shoving it in his pocket.

“So she’s keeping Simmons here for some reason.”

Will takes a breath so deep it lifts his whole frame, then he turns to face her. “Where is Ai- your cousin right now?”

Jemma backs away from all of them, still clutching the photograph to her chest. “No. I’m not going to let you pull Ophelia into this-”

“We’re not pulling her into anything,” Fitz says, “and she’s not your cousin.”

How could he say something like that? Fitz, who was her closest friend in the world.

“Jemma.” Will takes her hand from the photograph. It stings where the wood was digging into her skin but the warmth of his palm soothes the pain. He sits her back down on the couch and, for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, shatters her world.

❆❆❆❆❆

Later, Jemma stands on Main Street, dodging around passing pedestrians and pulling her coat tightly around her. Fitz and his friend, Daisy, are inside one of the stores, seeking out Ophelia—or Aida, or whatever her name really is—while she and Will keep watch outside.

It’s lucky, she thinks, that they came today. After last night, it’s certainly much easier for her to accept that this world isn’t real when it means all that nonsense about magic truly existing is a lie as well. Except…

She looks to Will, who’s scanning passing faces with a determination she’s rarely seen in his eye. Except she doesn’t know that she _wants_ them to find Ophelia. And she can’t shake the feeling that perhaps this is all some elaborate lie and she’s aiding people who mean her and her family harm.

But then that would mean she doesn’t trust Will and she doesn’t know what to do with that possibility.

“Jemma?” Will asks, having caught sight of her faraway look. “What’s wrong?”

When he lays a steadying hand on her arm, it’s familiar. So is his voice and his concern and his smiles. How can she think of him as a stranger?

 _Because he is_ , a voice reminds her. _He’s not even the same man who confessed his darkest secret to you last night._

She adjusts his scarf, laying it more flatteringly against his chest, and then keeps hold of it. “Tell me something real,” she says. So much of what she’s been told today isn’t so much truth as exposure of lies. She wants something more tangible, something she can hold onto to prove to herself that what she’s doing is right. “Something so I know you’re _you_.”

A stricken look mars his face. “Jemma, I-” The expression passes and he takes her hands in his, holding them between them. “You give me hope. When I don’t have any, no matter what world we’re on or what craziness finds us that week, you always remind me there’s something worth carrying on for just by being you.”

He’s never said anything like that to her before but she knows, deep down, that this is her Will. Maybe not exactly as she knows him, but as she loves him, and that’s what matters most, isn’t it?

“There’s something wrong here,” Fitz says, coming up behind her.

Will drops her hands almost as if burned and Jemma, feeling bereft and slightly petulant at having the moment broken, turns to find Fitz and Daisy have come out of the store. Fitz is looking at the crowds around them like they’re one of his machines failing to perform as he expected.

“You said it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Yes,” she says, though it wasn’t a question.

“And this is the most popular store in town.”

“ _Yes_.”

“How is it not insane around here?”

Jemma looks around, wondering what Fitz would consider insane. Half the town is out shopping today, not to mention all the people from neighboring towns and the relatives from even farther away. The last time the street was this packed was the Fourth of July parade.

“It’s a Christmas movie,” Daisy says ruefully. To Jemma she explains, “We showed some to Aida. She must’ve decided to make her world as cheesy as those. That’s why there are no crowds trying to kill each other over the last BB-8 doll or whatever’s big in this world.”

“But why change the date?” Fitz asks. “It was Christmas Day by the time we plugged in.”

“Maybe it’s like a Groundhog Day thing. Maybe it’s Christmas Eve every day.”

Well, that’s disconcerting. Jemma doesn’t much like the idea she’s been unknowingly trapped in a loop for- hm.

She tips her head back to ask Will, “How long have I been here?”

“I don’t know,” Will says, his voice tight. That tension’s not for her though, it’s all directed at the others. “I was out of town.”

“We can’t really be sure,” Fitz says, clearly uncomfortable.

“A week at most,” Daisy says. “But it could be only a day or two.”

Jemma wants to ask how they can be so unsure, but decides she’d rather not know. That’s something for the other Jemma to be concerned with. And much like Jemma does with thoughts of that other, _real_ version of herself, she pushes aside the hurt she feels now.

“Maybe that’s why you’re here,” Fitz grumbles to himself, clearly back on the trail of whatever conclusion he was chasing before she redirected the conversation.

“What do you mean? Isn’t my being here the whole point?” Jemma asks.

“Not you,” Fitz says. “Him.” He gestures almost rudely to Will. “He’s the only person we’ve seen—other than you and Aida—who exists in both the real world and this one.”

“Maybe because Ophelia is how I know Will,” Jemma says. She feels a bit embarrassed at their confused looks—from what they’ve told her, it must sound completely absurd to them that Ophelia would be her connection to _anyone—_ but barrels on quickly. “She works with you on your father’s ranch. She introduced us.”

Understanding dawns on Will’s face. “She works on the ranch,” he repeats, “and it’s Christmas Eve.”

She gasps over him, reaching the same conclusion at the moment he does. “But that’s _ridiculous_! That couldn’t possibly be her reason for building things this way.”

“What couldn’t?” Daisy asks.

For a moment Jemma is helpless, torn between loyalty to Will and the need to expose his secret to the others. But then she remembers that it’s _not_ his secret at all. “It’s another part of this being like a Christmas film. Will’s father, well, he’s-”

Unable to voice the words, Jemma points to where an elderly man is ringing his bell for donations at the front of the store.

“Why didn’t we just ask him if he’d seen Aida then?” Fitz asks.

But Daisy understands. “No.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Daisy drags her hands down her face. To the sky she says, “We never should’ve shown Aida those movies.”

❆❆❆❆❆

They don’t get the chance to see what shenanigans Ophelia is getting up to while Father Christmas is off making his yearly deliveries. Halfway there, while Daisy is questioning why he’s in Texas rather than at the North Pole and Will is in the middle of a surprisingly sincere excuse that even Santa enjoys warm summers, Jemma finds herself becoming faint and nauseous all at once. The world is spinning and the sky is shuffling through hues in her vision and-

She’s gasping awake—sounding a lot like Will did this morning in the kitchen and that makes _so_ much more sense now—and Lincoln is there with his curt medic voice, telling her she’s all right and giving orders to other agents beyond her field of vision.

She looks around her, more to avoid the bright lights overhead than out of curiosity. Fitz and Daisy are climbing off cots and beyond them is Ophelia- no, _AIDA_. AIDA. AIDA. AIDA. But the repetition doesn’t erase the fact that she’s been disassembled, broken into dozens of pieces.

Jemma rolls away and gags over the edge of the bed. It’s silly, she knows. AIDA is nothing more than a machine. A machine that was used by Radcliffe or Nadir or some as yet unnamed enemy to undermine SHIELD from within and when Jemma found her out, she attacked her and plugged her into that ridiculous virtual reality.

 _You’ll be happy there_ , she promised while sedating her. _It’s a better world_.

Jemma would laugh if her stomach weren’t still rebelling on her.

Strong fingers rake through her hair and a soothing voice promises her she’s all right now. Though the promise is so similar to AIDA’s, she takes comfort in it. She can trust Will. No matter what world they’re in.

He stays with her. When the others go to deal with troubles that have stirred up in her absence—May and Hunter and Coulson have gone off on a mission and brought back injuries with them from the sound of it—Will remains behind. Fitz wants to as well, of course, but he has work to do with AIDA’s remains and Daisy could use his expertise when she analyzes the Framework program.

Jemma tries to be sorry. It’s Christmas, at least for a few more hours, and she should want to spend it with her friends. But after what she’s been through, she doesn’t have it in her to lie. She loves them all of course, but it’s Will she wants.

He rubs her back until her stomach eases and reads to her from _A Christmas Carol_ the way he did on Maveth while they wait for test results to return and takes the tray of food a poor level one agent brings to the door, refusing to allow the man entry unless he has to. When Daisy pops back in with a laptop and a download of _It’s a Wonderful Life_ and it turns into a whole crowd piled on her sickbed, Will sits in the corner and watches with the rest of them, disappearing only for a half hour at most when Coulson stops by to speak to him. Jemma wishes she could say she spends that time engrossed in the film rather than itching to seek him out, but she’s had enough lies for one day.

It’s nearing midnight when Lincoln returns (the others are fine, he says, but the way his eyes slide from hers has her silently promising to check on them herself at her first opportunity) and grudgingly gives her permission to return to her quarters for a shower and change her clothes so long as she promises to spend the night in the infirmary. Despite the late hour, it’s no surprise at all when Will stands and silently moves to escort her. His hand finds her back whenever she hesitates on a step, meaning that when she abruptly turns to face him in a deserted hallway, she’s practically in his arms.

“I have a gift for you,” she says.

He shakes his head, but she only cares about the way his fingers are curling around her back. “You’ve been through a lot, we can worry about that later.”

“I know.” Daisy’s already announced that they _will_ have Christmas before New Year’s if she has to quake every enemy they have to death to do it. It wasn’t exactly the most festive of sentiments, but they all appreciated it nonetheless. “But I didn’t manage to buy you one. I looked and looked but I couldn’t find anything-” Nothing was _right_. She was so caught up in wondering where he fit into her life, it made shopping for him impossible. Everything seemed either too intimate for a man she wasn’t involved with or too generic for a man who’s quite literally seen her pee.

“That’s okay. I’m just glad you’re all right. And you brought me home, Jemma, no gift’s ever gonna gonna top that.”

She smiles. He’s so adorable when he’s wrong. “But I do have a gift for you. One I should’ve given you ages ago.” She’s never said it. Not in this world, at least. She said it practically every day in that other one and finds that the repetition makes it easier to get it out now. “I love you.”

He gasps and holds the breath like he’s afraid if he lets it out, he’ll somehow erase what she’s said. His head lowers to hers and his breath finally shudders out of him. “I love you too.”

Her arms wrap around him. For a while they simply stand there, pressed together, supporting one another physically as they have so often emotionally.

“So you like the gift?” she teases when she feels enough time has passed.

He laughs and straightens. She’d be sorry for the loss but he keeps his arm at her back and lifts his free hand to brush her hair from her face. “Yeah. I like it a lot.”

“More than being rescued?”

“Oh yeah. Lots more.”

She throws her head back. “I knew it.”

He shakes his head, used to her always having to be right. But his smile fades far too quickly for her liking. “I have to tell you something. Two somethings, actually.”

“All right.” She braces herself and smiles to think now she has the excuse of his arms to aid her in that. She’ll have to ease the team into such public displays of affection, especially when Fitz is present, but now at least it’s just the two of them and she can indulge herself.

“While we were in the Framework, Coulson and the others were hunting down a stray signal from it, thinking either it led to whoever programmed Aida or someone else who might’ve been trapped in there. It led to my father’s ranch. Coulson stopped by during the movie to tell me what happened and- and that they found Ophelia there.”

It takes her a moment to track that sentence and parse out reality from false memory. Even then, she requires some clarification. “What are you saying?”

“Apparently she used Christmas magic to build herself a human body. The Framework shut down when her consciousness transferred into it, that’s how we got out.”

She really is grateful for Will. Were he not holding her, there’s no way she could keep her feet. She’s feeling terribly lightheaded.

“My dad had already found her in the barn,” Will goes on, filling the space of her confusion with words that keep her grounded even as they wash over her. “She was on her second helping of cookies and cocoa when the team got there, so I guess she’s just like every other little kid.”

That snaps Jemma back into focus. “She’s a child?”

“No,” Will chuckles. “Not physically; she looks just like she did before. But she is only a few hours old. She’s got the emotional maturity of a newborn and the intelligence of a literal supercomputer. My dad probably guaranteed her a lifetime of cavities by making her first meal sweets.”

Jemma is not prepared to deal with this. “What was the other thing?” she asks, hoping it at least will be easier to process.

“Maybe that should wait,” Will says, dragging his knuckles across her forehead. He keeps touching her and in that it’s like their first days together on Maveth. He would touch her all the time like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to finally. The familiarity is reassuring.

“No. Get it over with. I’ll just worry if you wait.”

He sighs, clearly annoyed with himself for bringing it up at all. Then he looks up and down the hall to make sure they truly are alone here. Finally he says, “My dad really is Santa Claus.”

She laughs. Oh, he really is a wonderful man. He had to know the news about AIDA might bother her after all she went through and came prepared with a joke to cheer her up.

“Thank you for that,” she says and turns out of his arms. “I needed it.”

The hand she’s caught in hers tightens and she finds herself spun back against his chest.

“I wasn’t kidding.”

She blinks up at him. “No. You were. Because Santa _isn’t real_.”

“Santa’s actually just a title- You know what? Not important. But he is real and he’s my dad.”

“No, he’s-” She rubs her temples. She _just had_ this conversation with him. Or a version of him at any rate. “Magic isn’t real.”

“It is though.”

“Elves?”

“They commute from another dimension. It’s a whole thing.”

“Sleighs aren’t aerodynamic _at all_.”

“First thing I ever flew.”

She resists the urge to stomp her foot. “Reindeer. Even _if_ I allow that they could fly—which they cannot—reindeer can’t live as far south as Texas. They don’t even live in the Western Hemisphere!”

“First of all, they’re domesticated, so they live wherever we want. And they’re _flying_ reindeer, totally different species. Like flying squirrels.” He pulls a face. “Actually no, do not think about them like flying squirrels, that is a _horrifying_ mental image and I am sorry.”

She knows she’s gaping at him, but she can’t help it. Not because of the mental image though. “That,” she says slowly, “is exactly what you told me in the Framework.”

“Weird,” he says, then shrugs. “Must’ve been the Christmas magic.”

She isn’t nearly childish enough to scream, but her irritated groan comes very close. She drops her head to his chest. “You’re really serious? You wouldn’t lie to me?”

“Really serious,” he says, his hand once again sliding over her back in a soothing circuit. “I would never.”

This is completely unfair. But she supposes it’s not that different from Thor being an alien.

She pops back up quickly. “Are you human?”

“Completely. The job’s passed down from father to son. I’ll be the forty-first.”

She pouts and pokes at his ribs. “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. I do like hugging you more now you’ve got some fat on you.”

“You mean now that I’m not starving half the time?” He tries to be judgmental but can’t keep the chuckle from his voice.

She strokes his cheek. “And I do miss the beard.”

“You know the stereotype is just that, right? The only one who ever looked like that was my great-great granddad.”

She pouts again. “But the beard can come back?”

He shakes her head as he pulls her close. “Yeah, the beard can come back.”


End file.
